Augment
by Celestia Craven
Summary: It is the year 2084. After the first augmented human stopped World War III before it began, augments have been the guiding force of society. To this end, it is law to have one augment for every one million humans, chosen by a somewhat mysterious test given by an augment proctor. Harry Potter manages to pass this test.


Notes: I should probably be working on some of my other ideas. Alas, I decided to write this. Well, that's life. I'll try to write a bit more, but no promises. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this little tidbit that occurred to me; I think it has potential, but what do you think?

Published on July 9th, 2015

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Chapter One

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The tension in the air was horrifying. Dozens of six-year-old children from Greenwood Elementary stood in a neat line in the waiting room at the nurse's office with their parents. The school nurse herself was standing in one corner, hands fisted. There was absolute silence. Even Aunt Petunia, Harry noted, who always doted on her son in the most disgusting manner possible, had suddenly gone tight-lipped and pale.

It was Exam Day.

Every child their age was going through the exact same thing right now. The anxiety, the sickly sensation of the future being laid on the table. Any earlier and the tests would lose their precision. Any later and the children would be too old for the treatments.

Then there was the sound of footfalls on the newly-polished hallway floor.

Then they walked into the waiting room. It was an examiner, a man with bright blue eyes, flanked by two men in body armor. The examiner walked to the door of the nurse's office, while the other two took up position against the wall. He turned, drawing his eerie gaze over the assembled group. "Mr. Fredrick Appleseed," he called evenly, opening the sterile white door with a creak. "You're up first."

The child gave an audible swallow, casting his gaze to the others for reassurance before inching towards the door, which the man held open for him. Harry didn't envy him. In fact, Harry even felt bad for him. Fred was nice, and he had something to lose. Harry's classmate rubbed suddenly sweaty palms over his best trousers, then marched himself through. There was the click of the door closing and then nothing for fifteen minutes.

Then Freddy came back out, perfectly sound and unharmed. He walked over to his parents, hiding himself behind his father's pant leg. His mother placed a reassuring hand on his head and then turned her gaze toward the door.

The man followed him. "Negative," he said dispassionately, and then called, "Miss Samantha Betany."

Freddy's parents turned their gazes back down, relief breaking over their faces. His father squeezed his arm, while his mother kneeled on the ground to hug him, heedless of getting her designer dress dirty. They walked out of the waiting room both touching him, as if they were afraid he would turn into smoke at any moment. Still, there was a hint of disappointment. The school nurse clicked her ballpoint pen and made a check mark on her little list of names.

It was almost an hour before, "Negative. Mr. Dudley Dursley," was called. Dudley waddled toward the door, and Harry quickly stifled his pity. Dudley — huge even at only six, almost triple Harry's size — wouldn't survive in such demanding surroundings. He was a spoilt brat. If Dudley's slightly unfocused eyes and shaking knees were any indication, even he realized this.

It was to extreme celebration that Dudley was proclaimed a negative. Aunt Petunia started to wail, blubbering out all manner of pet names. Uncle Vernon was nodding his head, eager to accept that his son was a failure in this one regard, putting aside his delusions and pride for _one_ single moment.

Harry watched as they left him alone. If each person took fifteen minutes, it would take hours more until the man reached Potter. He almost tried to call them back. Then Harry saw the examiner curiously tilt his head at him, the man realizing instantly what was happening and filing it away somewhere in his mind.

Harry couldn't make himself speak. A few parents offered a moment, a smile with a wrinkle of sympathy on their brows, but quickly returned to providing silent encouragement for their own offspring.

Harry's legs were almost ready to give out when it was his turn. He could only imagine what George Zane would feel like. Over half the room was gone, all of them negatives. Really, the odds of being positive were tiny — there only needed to be seventy in the entire country, and there was already fifty-two. Somehow that wasn't at all reassuring.

"Mr. Harry Potter," the examiner said, peering down at them.

Harry stepped forward numbly, jumping when he heard the door click behind him.

"Alright, Mr. Potter," the man said. He turned to a few machines along the walls, gesturing to one of three beds with one hand. There, in the middle, was what looked like a modern version of a suit of armor, covered in sensors for every imaginable measurable quality. "Sit down."

Harry braced his arms on the bed and climbed up with the help of a cheerful elephant shaped footstool. He turned around again, fisting his shirt in his hands. Though his guardians hadn't bothered to stay, at least they had the decency to have bought him new clothing that actually fit for the occasion. Petunia had added too much starch, though, and it was even more uncomfortable than the lumpy hand-me-downs.

"Mr. Potter," the man started, bringing up a new file on the screen. "I am going to have you place this helmet on your head, this smock over your torso, and these gloves on your hands. It will not hurt, though you may experience a slight itching sensation. I will ask you a few questions and you will provide me with correct, honest answers. If you do not know, you are to do the best you are capable of. Do you understand?" he droned.

Harry pushed through the lump in his throat to hiss, "Yes."

Harry knew that it didn't matter what he said. If he said no, he'd merely be tied down. Plenty had been. This was going to be awful enough on its own. He wanted this over with, he wanted to go back to #4 Privet Drive, and he wanted to forget that this had ever happened.

"Good," the man said. He removed each piece from the metal stand and strapped them on, without any further dramatics and sat down in one of the chairs with wheels in front of him.

The helmet and smock both felt heavy, like Harry was being dragged into the Earth's crust, though they were made of a lightweight plastic alternative. The gloves were nearly unbearable, preventing him from fiddling, even as they absorbed any sweat that might have caused discomfort.

"What is your full name?" the examiner asked.

"Harry James Potter."

"Is Harry short for anything? Harrison, perhaps?" the examiner prompted.

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

"Do you suppose they don't care whether you've been properly addressed all this time?" the examiner asked, not even bothering to mention who _they_ meant.

Harry couldn't help a wince, noticing how the man was taking in the results that were forming on his handheld tablet. He breathed in, about to say something about them being busy, or having forgotten. Then he remembered the command to be honest. Unlike toward the nurse and his teacher, he didn't dare make excuses.

"No, Sir," Harry said, staring straight ahead into space. "They didn't care."

Another glance toward the tablet. "Which would you prefer to be on your birth certificate?"

"Sir?" Harry wondered. Then, "I don't know."

The examiner stared at him a moment, then reminded, "Try to do the best you can."

". . . Harry. Not Harrison."

"Explain."

"My mother wrote my name in thread on a blanket as _Harry_. I want to be called that name, even if it isn't my proper name."

"What is the definition of _photosynthesis_?"

Harry fumbled a bit as he mentally shifted gears. "I — I don't know."

"Guess," the examiner commanded.

"When people take photos and put them into a frame with other pictures," Harry said after a moment.

"What is the digit in the tenths column in five thousand six hundred ten and fifty hundredths?"

"Ten?"

He didn't know any of this stuff. At first Harry had been worried. The first questions had hurt. But this was just really hard schoolwork. There was no way he'd pass!

"You own this particular item, but everyone you know uses it more than you do. What is it?"

After a good long think, Harry answered, "Food I cook?" even though he knew it wasn't quite right. Yes, he made food sometimes and most of it went to the Dursely family instead of himself (the thought of eating that much made him want to vomit). But, he didn't own it. He was a kid; he didn't own anything. Not really.

"If you were to name a pet, what would you call it?" the examiner asked.

Harry shifted on the examination bed, calling to mind Aunt Marge's dog Ripper. Then he quickly banished the image. "Pete, maybe. Or Tom."

"What is the color of the emotion joy?"

"Yellow."

"I am thinking a number in my mind between one and one hundred. Try to guess which number it is."

Harry didn't bother trying to get it right. This was just a trick question, really. "Ninety-nine," he guessed.

They continued in this vein for a while. The examiner would ask questions, sometimes with objective answers, sometimes matters of opinion. Sometimes there were short scenarios. He would often reference the tablet computer, reading the output from the sensors Harry was wearing.

"Your examination is finished," the man said. He removed the sensors, leading him to the door and pushing him through. Harry breathed freely. It was over. He could walk home, grab a bite of lunch, and take the rest of the day off.

"Positive," the examiner pronounced.

The school nurse dropped her clipboard. The two bodyguards against the wall surged forward with measured steps until they were at either side of him. Harry thought to run. They he looked up, at the eerie eyes of the augmented, and gave up. There would be no escape.

"Rachel Quimbly," the examiner called. The little girl looked about ready to faint.

They'd all heard the stories, of course. Children chosen for augmentation. There was to be seventy augments in all, each for one million members of the population. It brought new meaning to the phrase "one in a million." Those chosen to join the ranks of the augmented would spend the next ten years in the augmentation program, becoming the next generation of leaders. Participation was mandatory, and contact with the outside world was heavily monitored.

No child really believed it. Not really.

Every year the newspaper stories came out, saying the same things. What an honor. The best education in the world. They mentioned the augments who had already graduated, wildly successful members of society. Those who were not politicians or intellectuals were models and singers, or those who had elected to be many things at once. The papers didn't mention the surely painful training ground that would transition them from average children into perfect adults, great at whatever they put their minds to.

Harry watched as the nurse recovered, scribbling on her clipboard. The exams continued for two more hours and George Zane was eventually pronounced a negative. The light in the nurse's office was switched off, and Harry was escorted down the hallway. He thought that maybe his uncle or the school would have to sign paperwork handing him over, but they didn't stop until they were already piled in the luxury car. The driver shifted gears, and they all started moving.

"My name is John," the examiner said from the passenger's seat. He turned back, a human expression falling on his face for the first time in over five hours. He smiled. "Welcome to the program. This is Lee," he said, waving his hand at one bodyguard, "and this is Janet."

Lee and Janet nodded their heads in hello from either side of him. Then all three proceeded to speak to each other in another language, one that Harry couldn't even begin to recognize. It took only a moment for John to pull out his tablet computer and offer it up.

"Hello, Harry," the tablet said in a male voice, the surface blanking into white. "How may I help you?"

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